A very British Roadtrip
by MaybeDreaming
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley go on a trip in the Bentley to various English cities, as narrated by Aziraphale. Rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1

We were meeting for the first time since we had averted the End of the World. It had been a few months, but we simply hadn't found the time to catch up. I had my books, you see, and Crowley had his car and that richly furnished apartment of his. We both had matters to attend to, now that our respective Sides had decided to leave us alone for a while.

I was early, of course. Usually the case. I had discovered a small café which made excellent scones and even provided ample clotted cream for the perfect afternoon tea. I placed my order and sat down at a corner table. It was a beautifully decorated place, with light green walls, plenty of little plants dotted around and that classic English mixture of lace and mismatched textiles.

Crowley looked utterly out of place in the pastel décor. He swaggered in, all brooding and cheekbones and majestic hair. "Alright, Angel?" He slumped down casually in the cosy armchair across from me.

"Hello Crowley. How's the Bentley?"

"Absolutely wonderful." The tea and scones arrived and we started tucking in. Personally, I prefer cream before jam; Crowley mixed it all together and shovelled it in like there was no tomorrow.

"So Aziraphale," he said finally, avoiding eye contact by carefully pouring the tea, "Do you fancy a trip? I was thinking Brighton, then Bath?"

"One of mine and one of yours, it does make sense," I mused. "Any particular reason why?"

"They're nice this time of year." This was clearly an advanced form of sarcasm. It was December and intermittently snowing and raining in between snatchy gusts of howling wind.

"I'd like that, actually." I hadn't been to Bath since I chatted to Miss Jane Austen, and I'd only been to Brighton for a day-trip.

We stopped off at the bookshop so that I could ensure everything was safely locked away. I stepped back into the Bentley on the condition that Crowley obeyed speed limits, instead of treating them as a target.

He ignored me, but one can always hope.

Just over two hours later, we arrived in Bath. It is a truly lovely city, characterised by it's honey-coloured Georgian buildings and cobblestoned roads.

We took a wander around the botanic gardens. They were beautiful, a stunningly neat variety of colour. It was a breath of fresh air after London's cramped and crowded parks, although the December mist was utterly freezing.

"So," I asked, "Where do you think you'll be staying this evening? I'm perfectly happy to take a hotel room near the city centre."

He twisted his mouth a little. Hard to tell if it was a smile or a grimace, really.

"About that, Angel. A holiday apartment has come available, by some wild coincidence. Want to stay there?"

"I'm just not sure it's appropriate." This was the kindest way I was comfortable saying _Crowley, this takes it a little too far._

He slumped onto a wooden bench overlooking the flower displays. "Come on, Aziraphale," he whined, "What's the point in going on holiday together if we stay miles apart?"

He wheedled me into agreement, but I just knew sharing an apartment was a bad idea.


	2. Chapter 2

The apartment itself was perfect, all white walls and black surfaces. In a weird way, it was like Crowley and I: the ultimate balance of dark and light.

Certain problems obviously arose when it came to sleeping arrangements. Namely: Crowley was adamant that we should share a room; I may be good but I'm not a complete idiot. Angels and demons just cannot do what he's suggesting.

"who knows what might happen?" I exclaimed. "The universe could explode!"

Crowley looked even more mischievous than usual. "Why not find out?" He gestured to the enormous double bed. Matters were made even worse by the towels spread in a heart shape.

"It's just not appropriate," I argued. "I'm perfectly happy to take the sofa - we came for a sightseeing trip, not for _this! _I gestured helplessly.

"Have it your way then." He scowled deeply and slammed the door like a human teenager. Just moments later, I heard an extremely loud sigh and a creaking thud as he collapsed onto the bed. Not that I was thinking about him in bed. Definitely not. Wouldn't dream of it.

The following morning, I woke to a steaming mug of tea being shoved under my nose. "You're bloody welcome." This was Crowley evidently attempting to apologise. "Milk and no sugar, because you're already sweet enough, Angel." He swaggered away. He does enjoy tormenting me, doesn't me? I suppose it's just a demon characteristic.

After that wonderfully restorative cup of tea, we decided to visit the Roman Baths. Obviously this wasn't exactly history for us, but it was nice to revisit memories. The Roman Occupation of Britain was one of my favourite eras; I remember particularly enjoying their oysters and fish sauce.

It was a lovely trip. There was a lot of reminiscing. We weren't as close then, of course. More of a professional relationship, really. We wandered along the side of the baths, staring into the stunning mosaics, inventive architecture and regal statues. "They used this right up until the 19th century," I reminded Crowley.

"Always liked bath houses. Modern spas are somewhat lacking - I miss the low prices." He was in a mood. I could always tell.

Realising that exploring the sights wasn't helping the situation, I encouraged us to hit the nearest pub. Crowley downed about three glasses of straight rum as we walked in, and grabbed a bottle of wine to take to the table. I sipped a small glass of red, not trusting myself. The last time we drank together, _things_ very nearly _happened_. I couldn't risk it again this time.

We chatted for a bit about this and that. Crowley had all but given up tempting humans: "they're doing a better job messing up their lives than I ever could right now," he had said, voice thick with rich alcohol. He said that narrowly avoiding the apocalypse hadn't changed me one bit. "I'm okay." I said. It's the simple (and complex).

The pub was typically English: dark wood, naff faded paintings adorning the panelling. I particularly liked the cosy sofas clustered around a fire. I get so much pleasure from watching the flames. There's something so human about enjoying an open fire. I glanced over at Crowley - the alcohol was clearly catching up with him. He had a glazed, vacant expression and was staring idly into space.

Reluctant to wake him from a pleasant-looking trance, I sat, comfortably appreciating the warmth and atmosphere. Old places like this inspired me.

A little while later, Crowley was definitely resting. Beings like us don't exactly _sleep_ as such, however we do need rest for our bodies to repair themselves. And a nap now and then is healthy. I was a little antsy and wandered over to a large bookshelf to inspect their literature. It was mostly random novels people like to say they've read; no true gems there, anyway.

We went for a walk, Crowley a little unsteady and I a little unhappy. "We need to talk, Angel." He said, slurring his words.

"You're drunk, Crowley."

"I don't like your…your," he stumbled around a lamppost, "your fucking holier than thou attitude."

"Language! And I hate to break it to you Crowley, but I am _quite literally _holier than thou." I led him to the apartment, before I could say anything perhaps more stupid. He seemed content to investigate the alcohol options there.

I watched him stumble around the apartment, feeling guilty and uncomfortable and also very confident that I just hurt the being I love most in the universe.

I made us dinner, as an attempt at a peace offering. Crowley hadn't bothered to sober up and only picked at the cheese and crackers I had provided. There was no escaping that the night ahead was going to be a repeat of last night's - shall we say - awkwardness.

I did a bit of reading - partly because I wanted to, and partly because I wanted to avoid Crowley. He was making me nervous. I was just getting into my current favourite: a classic science fiction about aliens causing all sorts of problems.

And he wandered in. "It's fine, I'm sober."

"How glad I am to hear that!"

"Please tone it down Aziraphale. Your relentless positivity is really winding me up."

"My apologies. I have no wish to offend."

He just said it, bluntly: "Share the bed with me tonight, Angel. It's all I'm asking for."

I was shocked. And it was clear that we were having a conversation I had absolutely no desire to participate in. "Crowley," I said slowly, "There's been little hint of this for the last 6,000 years. Please can you tell me what's changed?"

"Firstly, will you please let your hair down for a moment. And second, the past 6,000 years have had one simple thing in common: they were leading up to Armageddon. It could happen at any moment, Aziraphale. We've never before been so close." He was staring, directly at me. Intense eye contact is something I've always found dreadfully uncomfortable.

"I shall not, as you put it, let my hair down. I refuse to indulge in your selfish behaviour. Perhaps we can have this somewhat difficult conversation in the morning?" Or, I hoped, _never_, or at least not for another few thousand years.

"Have you forgotten that day we celebrated averting the apocalypse by going to the Ritz?"

Unfortunately, it was a day (and night) that I will struggle to forget. I hung my head guiltily. Crowley was talking about the time I had a little too much prosecco at our sumptuous afternoon tea and became slightly overexcited at Crowley's alcohol cabinet (raspberry gin is a particular pleasure of mine). Crowley was similarly intoxicated at the time and - I could hardly bear to remember the consequences.

"I know you took little enjoyment from it."

"On the contrary, Angel, it was one of the most amusing kisses I have ever had." He smirked, in the way only a demon could. Drove me mad, it did.

A kiss, that was all. But I had initiated it - and it had proven (in Crowley's eyes, anyway) that Angels _are _in fact able to feel erotic love. I still believe that this is not the case. I had simply drunk too much and that night I was barely in control of my major faculties. Later, I vowed that I would never let it happen again, and I said so.

"I cannot, Crowley. You mean more to me than any being in the universe but angels simply cannot become involved in this."

"You're so bloody good. That's your problem. Well you know what? You're boring." He swaggered into his bedroom and slammed the door so loudly all the windows rattled. I could hear him having at a go at a poor windowsill plant, and made a mental note to give it some kindness later.


	3. Chapter 3

The following day, Crowley was behaving immaturely, giving me the silent treatment. That morning, he wordlessly handed me a weak cup of tea when I awoke, downed his own cuppa and went to sit in the car. Realising that he wouldn't even deign to be in the same building as me, I could tell it was going to be a heck of a long day.

He drove us out of Bath. Probably for the best; the culture was wasted on Crowley anyway and I was more than content to leave behind the city and some of the odd, uncomfortable moments we had shared there.

He said nothing at all during the entire two-hour car journey. I highly doubt he was paying more attention to the road than usual (I spent the whole time avoiding glancing at the speedometer and had my eyes closed for longer than I care to admit). If he was trying to be utterly infuriating, he was very successful at it. In this mood, an apology from me would be ignored or might make matters even worse. I stayed silent too, aware that I would receive more feedback from speaking to a brick wall than I would from the demon sitting next to me.

Although I refused to let him see it, his stony silence made me miserable. Crowley was the only being in the universe who had any idea what I had been through in the past few thousand years. He s_aved my life. _And the thought that I wasn't enough, or that I was preventing his happiness in some way hurt me.

When we arrived, he got out of the car and marched towards Brighton Beach. I dithered, watching his slim, imposing figure stride along the shingle. He became blurry, hidden in the dense, rolling sea mist. Everything was quiet around me, the freezing December atmosphere softening all sounds except the gentle rattle of the shingle underfoot. I stood there for some time just watching the long winter shadows, utterly unable to decide on a course of action.

Such situations, in my opinion, can always be made right with a calming mug of steaming tea. I wrapped my hands around the enormous mug, enjoying the warmth seeping into my palms. The café was _Alice in Wonderland _themed, a little place crammed full of chintzy furniture and mismatched crockery.

I went up to tip the waitress and sent some comforting blessings her way. She looked pretty tired, and I knew that winter was a difficult time for seaside towns, so I thought she could use a little kindness.

Revived by the tea, I took a wander back to the car. Crowley was leaning against it. There was another awkward silence between us. I knew that I would probably get my head bitten off if I was the one to break it, so I waited patiently for him to speak.

"You're incredibly irritating, but you're all I've got, Aziraphale."

I hugged him. I couldn't help it, despite having no knowledge of what kind of reaction it might get. At least the universe didn't explode.

For a moment Crowley just stood there, cold and unfeeling as usual. And then, he hugged me back. I read somewhere that long hugs release positive feelings in humans, and I can confirm that this is also the case with angels. We stayed like that for some blissful moments and for me, it was the culmination of our long relationship: powerful, straightforward affection for one another.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley took me to a Japanese restaurant that evening. The food was exquisite and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. All the unpleasantness had, thankfully, been left behind and we were free to gently infuriate one another.

We headed to a bar afterwards, which for some reason, was purple themed. The walls were all a fancy deep violet colour, the furnishings a soft lilac. I'm sure Crowley knows the one colour I particularly do not care for is purple, but I let him get away with it. There was plenty of wine and I felt content in the knowledge that we were always able to overcome our differences.

As for the expectations in our relationship, of that I wasn't so certain. Crowley would simply have to be patient; he knows, after all, that angels really struggle with erotic love. It's a bit of a grey area with us. As beings who are love incarnate, the idea of sex is, at best, mildly uncomfortable. Hopefully Crowley would wait a few more thousand years before bringing it up again.

Crowley managed to sober himself up and drove us home, very late at night or early in the morning, depending on how you look at it. The roads were busy, even in the small hours. I continued to lecture him on his driving, while he carried on ignoring me, like absolutely nothing had changed.

We arrived in London just as people were starting to head to work. Crowley drove recklessly, weaving in and out of morning rush-hour traffic while I shut my eyes, certain that we would be discorporated before breakfast. We reached my bookshop safely, however.

"See you, Angel." I watched the Bentley zoom away into the distance, flipped the sign on the bookshop door to _open_, and vowed never again to take my friendship with Crowley for granted.

A/N Thanks so much for reading! I would really appreciate a review and welcome any comments, questions or feedback.


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